


Beating a Dead Horse

by LittleBaguette



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Ancestor-Era, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-12
Updated: 2015-07-12
Packaged: 2018-04-08 23:11:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,593
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4324398
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleBaguette/pseuds/LittleBaguette
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Handmaid pays the Executor a little visit and is appalled when she sees what state the blueblood had drunken himself into. Through screaming and persuasion between an angry woman and an inebriated man,  the two shall come to a little compromise...</p><p>Written for •Ancestral Anthology 2015•</p>
            </blockquote>





	Beating a Dead Horse

**Author's Note:**

  * For [serenavampire1999](https://archiveofourown.org/users/serenavampire1999/gifts).



> Hello everybody! (especially you, serenavampire1999!! ♥) 
> 
> I wrote this right when I got serena's assignment because I was so excited I would be able to write about Handmaid and Darkleer! ... So excited that I may have gone a bit overboard and not filled the entire assignment the way it should have been filled. Ahhh I'm ashamed now (/n\\) I think that differing headcanons mayyyy be the source of my problem, but oh well!  
> All in all, I really do hope that you'll enjoy this piece even though it isn't at the absolute height of your expectations ;v;b
> 
> I shall love you and leave you for now! 
> 
> Love, Baguette♥

His cave was dark, deep and damp, stalactites dripping from the top of the cavern, droplets of water hitting the blue stone below with a hollow noise that broke the deafening silence which reigned throughout the Executor’s newfound home.

It seemed that she had found him.

The sound of her heels clicking against stone echoed through the cave as she advanced into the dark opening of the lone mountain. She looked around; damp blue stone lit up by makeshift torches, fire crackling against the walls and leading the way to the darker corners of the cave.

It seemed that the Executor had been exiled. Exiled and left alone to weep on an island far from the Imperial City, far from civilisation.

As she arrived in the back of the cave, she found a large stone table with various metallic objects on it. Whether they be robotic parts or simple tools, they were scattered around creating a mess around the cold, abysmal-looking room. In the middle of all this, slumped on the table with a bottle of strong alcohol clutched in his hand was the Executor himself.

He was a ridiculous sight; he no longer had his armour nor his helmet, he was dressed in simple black trousers and a ripped blue shirt. Stripped of his title and his honour, he had resorted to drowning his sorrows and spending his evenings in total comatose only to wake up the next day with the vilest of headaches. In this instant, the blueblood was in the middle of a fit of sobs, his long, silk-like hair surrounding him messily, some strands sticking to his face.

She couldn’t take the sight of him, such a strong man being reduced to such a state… With a frown, she stood tall, letting her stern voice pierce the silence.

“Darkleer.”

As his name was pronounced, the Executor’s head shot up, his face and eyes blue as he stared at the woman facing him.

Her slender frame was hugged in a fluorescent green qipao, her thin arms stayed at her sides, lithe hands holding onto her black wands as she looked at the muscular man, brows knitted together, eyes stern, unforgiving.

She was beautiful.

Darkleer stared at her for a moment before he looked back to his bottle, leering down on the green liquid before he stared back up to the woman who was facing him.

“… Mindfang had warned me that drinking absinthe would end up with me seeing women in green. However, I did not expect to see you of all people, O Lady of Death.” The man slurred drowsily, half slumped over his stone desk.

The woman just glared at him, her upper lip curled in disgust. Darkleer took in her expression and chuckled to himself, a hand going up to run through his hair.

She was right to be disgusted by him. Not only was he in a pitiful state, but he also smelled like sweat and alcohol along with the saltiness of the tears that stuck to his cheeks. The clean-cut military man was no more. Now he was just a drunk, and it filled the ‘Lady of Death’ with such anger that she could barely contain herself.

“Do not call me that.” She spat at him, snarling.

“Then what must I call you, my Lady?” he asked, rolling his shoulders lazily “Should I call you what Lowbloods call you? ‘Demoness’? Or should I call you what your Master calls you?”

“Do not—“

“Handmaid.”

He grinned at her, seeming pleased with what he had just said. She looked down, then back up before she glared at him once again.

“I’d rather have you call me that rather than by those fancy Highblooded titles you enjoy giving me.”

He snorted at that and rolled his eyes like a child who had decided to disobey his mother. He then looked back to his bottle of absinthe and brought it to his lips, tipping his head back as he gulped down the ghastly liquid.

With a quick zap of her wand, the Handmaid destroyed the bottle that was clutched in the man’s hand, making it explode, glass shards cutting into the Executor’s hand, drawing navy blue blood from it.

The man cursed to himself and glared up at the woman, teeth bared.

“Do you know how long it takes for Mindfang to bring me my dose of intoxicants?!” he screamed at her, his unharmed hand clenched into a fist.

“ _Do not raise your voice at me!”_ She yelled, wands crackling as she started floating a foot or two above the ground.

Darkleer gulped and stared up to her, his face gone pale.  
Her eyes were rapidly switching colours, giving off an epileptic sight. The blueblood clenched his teeth and looked away, holding his hands up in defence.

“Very well.” He grumbled lowly, gritting his teeth.

The Handmaid jumped up on his table, kicking a few robotic parts away as she glowered down on him, her thin arms crossed over her chest.

“You are ridiculous. What happened to the strong, intimidating Executor I once knew?”

“He’s gone.”

“What was that?”

“He’s gone and dead and exiled, Handmaid! Exiled and persecuted, left alone with nothing to live for!” he wailed, hands shaking

She kicked him in the face, teeth clenched. He held his face in pain, groaning loudly as his large hand covered his now bruised cheek. He sobbed a little, lips quivering.

It was only then that the Handmaiden realised what she was doing. She was beating a dead horse, metaphorically speaking. This man had already lost everything, she couldn’t push him lower than he already was… Not to mention that she needed this man to hide from her Master.

Of course he was ridiculous and undignified, but the void that emanated from him allowed her to slip into a gap in which the Lord could not find her… And for that she was grateful.

She looked down at the pitiful man below her, as he sobbed and snivelled at her feet… She couldn’t help but feel a little sorry for him.

Pity… A feeling that should be banned, thought the young woman as she stared at the muscular blueblood. Pity is what got him in this state. Had he not taken pity of that mutantblooded troll’s Disciple, he wouldn’t have been where he was today.

Shaking her head, the Handmaid sat down on the stone desk, keeping her legs together as she straightened her qipao. She heaved a sigh as she watched him sob again, seeing him almost flinch as she brought one of her small hands to the top of his head, stroking his long, silky hair.

“Hush now.”

“No… No. You are right, I am nothing.”

“I never said that.”

“You think it.”

“I do not.”

“Yes you do.”

“I do not.”

“Yes.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

Darkleer looked back up to her, wiping the tears away from his eyes as he chuckled weakly. This exchange reminded him a lot of his conversations as a child with his moirail.  
The Handmaid huffed as she saw him chuckle, looking back on him sternly as he sighed. He looked away and wrapped a bandage around his wounded hand.

“I am a complete and utter fool, O Lady of Death. You are aware of this. Why do you come visit me?”

“For reasons I cannot disclose for now, Darkleer.” She told him, looking around his cave.  
“… It is rather empty in here, do you not think?”

“How so? I have what I need for now… What do you think I need more?”

The Handmaid thought for a moment before she replied bluntly.

“A clock.”

“A… Clock?”

“Yes, a clock.”

“What for?”

The Handmaiden had a little rictus and looked back at the muscular man, crossing her legs.

“It’ll be easier for me to come to you.”

“Why would you want to come to me in the first place?”

“I shall tell you in due time, Executor.”

“Expatriate.”

“What?”

“I have been stripped of my title. My moirail found this one for me… I have come to accept it.”

“I see.” She murmured, nodding.

Then came an awkward silence

The Handmaid looked back to the Expatriate and sighed, getting down from her seat on the desk, running a hand through his hair before she started walking away.

Darkleer got up, stumbling over like a foal who was barely getting used to his legs, as drunken as he was.

“Handmaid, where are you going?” he called out to her as he walked after her.

The woman turned on her heel and looked back to Darkleer.

“I must leave.”

“Why?”

“My Master is waiting.”

Darkleer gulped at that. Oh how he wished he could have a Master again. Frowning a bit, he hiccupped and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, nodding.

“When will you be back?”

“I do not know.”

“If I build a clock, will you come?”

The Handmaiden thought for a moment before she grinned, nodding.

“Why, yes. I shall.”

And with that, she left him there and then, zapping herself out of sight.

Darkleer stayed there, staring at the spot where the Handmaid once stood, looking slightly dumbfounded.  
He couldn’t believe what had just happened. The Lady of Death was there, she snapped at and belittled him, yet… He was drawn into her.  
He would remember this encounter for a long time to come, a bruise on his cheek was proof of it… Though for now he had finally found a new goal.

He was going to build a clock.


End file.
